I’m pretty sure I’m not a good teacher. And I definitely know I’m not supposed to be a mom yet. Here’s why…
I always joke with my students that if there were ever a real fire on campus, I would be bringing my keys down to the parking lot, and the first four that could run fast enough to keep up with me are allowed to get in the car and come get ice cream while every one else watches our school burn down.
This is because:
a. i love ice cream
b. i hate emergencies
c. i like to lighten the mood after a drill, which is probably undermining the whole point, actually. hmm…
Today is the “ShakeOut” day where all public schools have a huge planned earthquake drill. And God showed up at three pm with a REAL EARTH QUAKE.
When I first felt that rumble under my desk, I thought it might be a fat kid running into the walls outside my room. When I realized that it was the floor moving, my mind briefly flashed back to plate tectonics and all the different kinds of earth quakes I’ve been learning about as I studied for the CSET.
Then my stomach dropped and I felt sure the ceiling was going to collapse. And I started to sweat. And I started to reach for my keys.
Did I think about remaining calm? No. Did I think about reassuring the children? No. Did I think about getting the emergency backpack? No.
Isn’t that terrible? I thought that i would be cool, collected, assured, and ready for any crisis. Its why flight attendants do so much training, so they can point you towards the exits when the plane is going down, and you believe them because they are calm. I’m supposed to do that for my students. But I didn’t. My reaction was more like “OMG EVERYONE DID YOU FEEL THAT?! OMG OMGOMGOMGOMG. Um. That was so gnarly.”
There was nothing cool and calm about that. Nothing reassuring. I feel terrible. Oh well.
In other earthquake related news, we have some seriously awesome emergency snacks at my school. Remember how you had to bring like a Hi-C and a fruit roll up for your earthquake meal? And everyone labeled them and you threw it in a backpack, and at the end of the year, you got to eat them? These days, moms at my school are packing clean underwear, bags of goldfish, power bars, etc. Seriously high tech 911 packs.
At the end of the year, when we’ve survived this other teacher and I always raid the snacks and eat like queens for a few weeks.
Okay I am entirely useless tonight. I should probably go to a little happy hour.